


And I Couldn't Be More Glad

by willowscribe



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Ending, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Romance, Season/Series 05 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:43:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowscribe/pseuds/willowscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fall in love so slowly that neither of them notice it happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Couldn't Be More Glad

**Author's Note:**

> This is set mid- to post-series 5 and was written during the hiatus between series 5 and series 6. There is a severe lack of Brary fics in the Downton fandom, so this is my humble contribution to a worthy cause. Remember, comments are always appreciated! This fic is cross-posted on FF.net.

They fall in love so slowly that neither of them notice it happening. More often than not, Mary and Tom find themselves in the corner of some party, chatting or laughing or just drinking in silence, basking in the other’s presence. They are together when the little ones are brought out to visit and play, and sometimes they’ll take their respective child by the hand and go on meandering walks about the gardens. More often than not, the children are left behind with the nannies and it’s just the two of them walking, taking about the estate, future business plans, or current events.

Tom’s favorite place is the creek, so their walks usually end up there. They’ll stand at the bridge or sit in the grassy lawn alongside the waters, listening to the trickle of the stream. When Mary finally asks Tom why he’s so fond of the waterfront, he tells her about the creek he would play in as a child with all his siblings, tromping about in the mud, catching insects and making a terrible mess of his clothes. Tom’s childhood fascinates Mary. It’s so alien, so foreign, and yet, the common themes of love and family remain.

They don’t always walk by the water. Sometimes they’ll do tours of the estate or visit the tenant farmers to see how their crops are doing. Other times, they’ll head into the village, peering in shop windows and saying hello to the locals. Mary’s favorite place to go is a vast, flowering meadow up on a hill that overlooks the whole valley. There’s nowhere to sit, so the pair of them often stand together, admiring the view. Then, one day Tom absolutely insists they visit the meadow. When they arrive, Mary’s delighted to find that a park bench has been installed that faces the overlook. “Tom,” she says softly. “Why, I’m rather at a loss for words.”

“Then I’ve been successful,” Tom says with a smile. He invites her to sit down and she does. Before they realize it, they’re watching the sunset from the bench, having quite forgotten the time.

“Tom, thank you,” Mary says on the walk back to Downton. The sky still has visible strains of blue that glow with the last signs of daylight. “That was ever so thoughtful of you.”

“It was nothing,” Tom says, but Mary grabs his arm and stops him, turning him to face her.

“No, really,” she says, looking him dead in the eye. “Thank you.”

Tom smiles bashfully, then turns to continue on, offering Mary his arm. Mary takes it without comment, and the two make their way back to Downton in peace.

There had been a time when Mary thought that Matthew could be the only one to truly understand her, but she’s quickly realizing that that isn’t true. When she and Tom have a quiet moment alone (and those do seem to happen quite often), Tom again expresses his difficultly making a decision regarding leaving Downton for America. “You must do what you feel is best for you, not us,” Mary reminds him. “Although I should be quite sad to see you go.”

Tom chuckles. “You’re not nearly as cold as you’d like everyone to believe.”

“Well, not everyone can wear their heart on their sleeve like Edith. The whole world would go about weeping.”

“You know what I mean.” Tom smiles at her. “You act so aloof to your family and your suitors. Is it any wonder none of them know the real Mary Crawley?”

“And you do?”

“Maybe not entirely, but I believe I’m not misguided in my perceptions of you either.”

Mary offers Tom a half-smile. “Then you hold the dubious honor of being my closest confidante. Keep my secret safe, Tom. We can’t have the whole world thinking I’ve gone soft. Edith would never let me live it down.”

“If you weren’t horrid to her, maybe she wouldn’t be so horrid to you.”

Mary sighs lazily. “Old habits are hard to break. And so you see, I’m not completely kind.”

“Well, you _are_ more fun this way. Who else could I make fun of our dinner guests with?”

“We do get rather peculiar visitors, don’t we?” Mary laughs. “Did you see Lady Elinor tonight? Ply her with a few more drinks and we’d have been able to put on a circus!”

With Charles Blake in Poland and Tony Gillingham engaged, Mary suddenly finds herself quite single. It’s not an unwelcome state, but it’s certainly unusual, given she’s been fending off suitors ever since she came out of mourning. Tom is the only man in her life who is neither a servant nor a blood relation, but for some reason, she never thinks of him as anything more than a friend – her best friend, if she were willing to admit it. With Tom, there is no expectation of romance, no need to be on her guard at all times. There’s no verbal sparring or flirtation roulette. They are partners in business, equals in the family. They each play with the other’s child just as often as they play with their own. Sybbie is still unable to pronounce “Mary,” so more often than not, Mary finds herself christened “Mara.” It’s quite cute, expect for the time Sybbie slips and says “mama.” Mary and Tom both freeze, Tom in the middle of building a tower of blocks with George. George flails out and the tower comes crashing down but neither Mary nor Tom say a word.

“Mama!” says Sybbie again, holding her arms out to Mary. “Mama, up!”

Mary picks Sybbie up quietly, holding to girl to her chest. “Sybbie darling,” she says, “my name is Aunt Mary. Mary, remember?”

“Mama,” says Sybbie.

“Mary.”

“Mama.”

Mary looks helplessly to Tom, who shrugs back at her. “It’ll pass,” he says softly.

“I feel like it’s disrespecting Sybil,” Mary says as Sybbie examines her shiny necklace.

“Sybil would have been thrilled that the two of you are so close,” Tom says. “When she’s older, I’ll explain it to her, but for now? It’s not worth the battle.”

“Matthew would say the same about you and George.” Mary gestures to the pair on the floor, where George is attempting to restack the fallen blocks. “And these two may as well be siblings anyway, right?”

“I feel guilty separating them,” Tom admits. “In the long run, I’m sure that leaving will be for the best, but it’ll still be hard to see Sybbie and George apart.”

“Yes,” Mary agrees, sitting down. “And I’m afraid that it’ll be hard for me to see… well, to see you and me apart.”

“Mary, don’t say things like that. It makes it all the harder for me to leave.”

“And that’s not my intention,” Mary says. “I’ve just… grown rather fond of you. I should hate to see you go.”

Tom sighs. “I admit, I’ll rather hate leaving as well. But I will. I must.”

They fall in love so slowly that Mary doesn’t realize it until one day she wakes up and Tom has been gone for a month and the sudden wrenching grief that hits her is more than she can bear. Anna finds her laying in bed, still dressed in her nightgown, faces stained with tears. “Oh, my Lady,” Anna says, sitting herself gently on the edge of the bed next to Mary. “Come, get up. We’ll wash your face and you’ll be bright as new.” She takes Mary’s hands in her own and guides Mary into a sitting position.

“You must think me foolish,” Mary says as Anna slowly extracts her from bed. “It’s been almost a month since Tom left. Why should I be upset now?”

“Love makes a woman do funny things, milady,” Anna says, fetching a washcloth from the bathroom and wetting it.

“Love? Anna, you’re being rather presumptuous.”

“My apologies, milady,” Anna says, retuning and beginning to wipe off Mary’s face, which is still flushed and blotchy with tears. “I meant no offense.”

“Of course there’s no offense,” Mary says, sniffing loudly. “I was just rather taken aback.”

Anna grabs a handkerchief and passes it to Mary. Mary blows her nose and sighs loudly. “Look, at me. I’m a mess!”

“You’re upset, milady,” Anna says. “And if you don’t mind me speaking freely, I will say that it’s about time you realized your feelings for Mr. Branson.”

“My _feelings_? Anna darling, I do love you and trust your judgment, but this is a bit much.”

“You haven’t noticed it, milady?” Anna says, gingerly taking Mary’s handkerchief and setting it aside. She leads Mary over to her dressing table and sits her down. “The two of you are quite perfect for each other. Mr. Branson is the only man you don’t have to worry about impressing or keeping at an arm’s length. And the two of you are already very close friends. It’s quite logical, if you think about it.”

Mary sighs shakily. “Anna… I do believe you’re right. But how could you notice before I did?”

“I _am_ your friend, milady. I have been for many years.”

“Then this is a happy day for our friendship. But why do you suppose Tom left if he felt the same for me as I do for him?”

“Perhaps he didn’t realize it either, milday. You both are very stubborn, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“You’re very lucky I’m so fond of you, Anna,” Mary says warningly, though she can’t help but smile.

“Of course, your ladyship.” Anna grins at Mary before beginning to search for her morning clothes. “So, what colors would you like to wear for breakfast?”

Once she realizes what’s going on in her head, Mary finds the loss of Tom infinitely harder to cope with. She exchanges letters with him, but the post is slow and often months can pass with no communication. Phone calls can’t be made across the Atlantic, which Mary finds infinitely disappointing. In her letters to Tom, she doesn’t mention her recent revelation about her feelings because Tom is well and truly gone, and there’s no point dwelling on it.

The thing is, life is dull without Tom. There’s no one her age around to swap sly glances with at parties or to complain to or to reminisce about parenthood with. (There’s Edith, of course, but it’s not like Mary actually _wants_ to talk to her.) Even worse, there’s no one to go on walks with or discuss business with (and running the estate has grown much more difficult without Tom’s mediating hand to separate Mary and her father). One night, Mary goes out to the bench in the meadow and just sits there for hours, wondering how she didn’t even notice falling in love again. Then she goes to the graveyard and sits by Matthew’s tombstone for a long while.

“You know I’ll always love you, my darling,” she says, sitting in the grass facing Matthew’s grave. “You’ll always be my first and greatest love. But I love Tom too… not in the same way I loved you, but I love him just the same.”

She makes her way to Sybil’s grave too, and speaks to her lost sister as well. “I know he was your husband first, but you brought him into my life in a way I never expected, so I just have to thank you,” she says. “Sybil, darling… I know you won’t object to me finding love again, even if it is with Tom. You were always the kindest soul. You loved the rest of the world more than you loved yourself.” She sighs. “You should see you daughter. You’d be so very proud of her. I know I certainly am.”

It’s been a full year when Tom turns up on the doorstep of Downton again, Sybbie in his arms and a suitcase by his side. “Happy Christmas,” he says as he greets the family with hugs and kisses.

“Welcome back,” Mary says when it’s her turn to hug Tom, holding him tightly and feeling all the dulled feelings she harbored swell back to life. “Oh, I’ve missed you so.”

“And I you,” Tom says, hugging Mary back with one arm, the other still holding Sybbie.

“Aunt Mary!” Sybbie exclaims excitedly from her perch in Tom’s arms, reaching out with her small arms. Mary steps back from her hug with Tom and scoops Sybbie up into a hug of her own.

“Welcome back, my darling,” she says, holding the girl close. “Your cousin George will be very excited to see you!”

“What a surprise,” Cora says as she steps forward to greet Tom next. “You should have told us you were coming!”

“It was a very last minute decision,” Tom says. “I hope I’m welcome?”

“Of course,” Cora says. “You’re a part of the family!”

“Yes, you are,” Mary says. “Shall we head inside?”

Christmas is as close to perfect as it could ever be. Mary and Tom go on walks again, even in the snow. They chat for hours on end and catch up more than a letter could ever convey. Mary is perfectly, blissfully happy for the first time in a very long time. The two of them meander all over the village and the estate grounds. They visit the creek, now half frozen over with a thin layer of ice. They visit the shops in town and they visit the meadow, where they sit on the bench and speak softly, their voices creating puffs of vapor in front of them.

“I’ve missed you terribly,” Mary says quietly, leaning her head on Tom’s shoulder.

“I’ve you all as well,” Tom says. “It’s very different in America. Some of the different I like, and some of it… not so much.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well…” Tom sighs. “I know you English aren’t always fond of the Irish, but in America, the anti-Irish sentiment is… well, it’s not very pretty either. I’ve done alright, for the most part, but some of my Irish brothers have it much worse off.” He snorts. “I’ve seen signs for jobs that read ‘Irish Need Not Apply.’”

“Oh Tom, that’s awful!” Mary says. “How unjust!”

“The situation’s not so uncommon, even here,” Tom says. “Downton kept me sheltered from it for the past few years, but there’s no escaping the fact that I’ll always carry the burden of being Irish.”

“Then don’t go back,” Mary says. “I’ve been thinking it all the while you’ve been here, but I just don’t know if I could bear you leaving again. I love you much too dearly, and now that I hear you’ve been encountering prejudice…”

“I admit, I never thought I’d feel more at home at Downton than anywhere else,” Tom laughs.

“Yes, well. You’ve proven your point by leaving, and now in returning, you can reevaluate whether you want to leave again. You know my opinion on the matter, but I must leave you to the decision on your own. But remember… you will always have a home at Downton, Tom. Always.”

“And what of your suitors? They won’t like having an Irish widower about the house when they marry you and begin to run the place.”

Mary bites her lip. “I have no suitors, Tom,” she says carefully. “Not any that I’m interested in keeping around, anyway. There’s only one person I would want to run Downton with, and he’s sitting on this bench with me.”

“ _Me?_ ” Tom seems completely taken aback. “Mary, I…”

“Oh, honestly,” Mary says. “Indulge me just this once.”

Tom kisses her. He kisses her and he kisses her and he kisses her some more, until their lips are swollen and they’re both gasping for breath and Mary is suddenly laughing because she’s in love and she’s waited a whole year for this moment and even if the world falls apart around her, it will be okay so long as Tom is there.

“I don’t suppose you’d consider moving to America,” Tom says, and Mary swats him on the arm.

“Don’t be silly,” she says. “Downton is our home.”

“And I couldn’t be more glad,” Tom says as he kisses her once more.


End file.
